The silver spires spear the sky, flashing turrets steaming in the sun. Formal grey forests encase the gaud fortress, stiff bark knotted, the wrinkled veils of a mourning mother. Twinkling blue waters wind around the golden gates, oozing into a muddy black when they slip under the drab foliage. Chunks of dense white marble, splintered with violet and rose, make up soaring arches and balconies, but beneath the trees, soil is gritty excreting the smell of meat and rot. Succulent peaches and pears grow juicy and luscious inside the walls, but close by pinched nuts and sickly pomegranates never bloom of swell on their angry onyx thickets.